


Turn to Stone

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Mild Dark Themes, Mild Sexual Content, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, gorgons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a geeky student, who is studying Greek Philosophy, is found apparently turned to stone, Sam & Dean investigate and start to think they might be chasing Medusa – but their assumptions are wrong and their mistake could turn fatal for both Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn to Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN_gen_bigbang on LJ.
> 
> Many thanks to my artist, Colls. Her gorgeous artwork can be found [here.](http://swannee.livejournal.com/105597.html)

Saturday night and he was, stupidly, excited.

A Philosophy major, he worked diligently during the day, attended lectures, wrote his papers on time, spent an abnormal amount of time in the library. To most people he was a geek, bespectacled, messy hair, no time to really choose the right sort of clothing. He didn’t mind, they were right, but on Saturdays he was something so much more.

The dorm room bathed in a soft blue light; all the furniture was pushed back and there were two large white pillars at the entrance, a sign proclaiming. 

_Welcome to Ancient Greece_

He drew his robes closer around him, legs prickling at the coldness of the evening. One of the citizens on the door recognized him and stepped back so he could enter, handing him a glass of Ouzo and offering him a plate of vine leaves which he refused politely.

The game was set out on the floor, a huge three dimensional world. He could see the clouds representing his world and he took his seat behind them, crossing his legs and swigging down his drink. He saw Jasmine, one of his classmates, squatting by the _sea_ (a huge swathe of blue silk) and he raised a hand to her. She grinned up at him, her blue retainer clashing a little with the red lipstick and gold robe that she wore.

“Welcome Zeus,” she decreed with all of the respect his title deserved. “Now you have honored us with your presence we can begin.”

He beamed, in what he hoped was a benign way, and bent ready to play. Several of his companions, all dressed in similar robes and clutching various props such as bows, swords and tablets of knowledge, stepped forward to watch him, wondering what fate had in store for them.

“Stop!” 

Another voice, one he didn’t recognize, floated across the floor. He turned to see a woman standing in the shadows. She wore a long silver gown which brushed around her bare ankles, a blood red cape with a deep hood, her face obscured. She seemed to glide towards him and he swore he could hear more than the swishing of her costume, a distant hissing sound that he immediately put down to the Ouzo and the heat of the room.

“Zeus” she purred but her voice was mocking. “You were going to commence without me.” Her hand reached out for him and lay, briefly, on his wrist. He noted that her fingernails were long and painted a vivid green and there was a large ring on her finger, the design oddly familiar. “And yet I am the guest of honor.”

“Um.” He lost composure for a moment and, was instantly, a nerdy geek again. “Are you a friend of Scott?”

She laughed, soft and delighted, then she leaned forward and moved her hood just a touch so that he could see her face beneath.

She was as pale as death, her skin almost greenish in tone. Her mouth was wide and red, her teeth white and sharp looking. Her cheekbones were high and her brows dark. He could not see her hair but the hissing he had heard earlier seemed closer now and he felt sweat pool in the small of his back, felt it drip from his forehead to his chin. For a moment he looked away and then straight into her eyes, his breath almost taken from him as he stared into eyes so dark they were almost all pupil, they flashed for a moment, looked almost red in the dullness of the room and then they settled, her lashes fluttering closed as she pulled her hood over her face again.

He felt Jasmine pull at his robe and he shook himself. The woman was gone, vanished as if she were never there at all and he felt odd and shaky, ready to go home, an awful tiredness washing over him as he pushed concerned hands aside and staggered, raggedly, to his own dorm room.

The next day he was so stiff he could barely move. His shoulders and arms hurt him terribly and his knees refused to bend. He went to his first class but was so rigid afterwards that he had to go home and take a hot shower. Thankful he didn’t share a room, he buried himself in his sheets and hoped the painkillers he had taken would do the trick.

They didn’t.

The next day he couldn’t get out of bed. His fingers refused to flex and he couldn’t even send a text. He might have panicked but he just felt too tired, too out of it to even care and he wondered if he had been roofied at the gathering, by someone who envied his position as _King of the Gods_. 

By evening he wasn’t able to move his body at all, paralyzed from the neck down he was beginning to feel real fear but he couldn’t do a thing about it, couldn’t shout because his throat was frozen, couldn’t even manage a whimper. As he floated away he felt his whole body growing more and more rigid until he could feel nothing, see nothing, his mind drifting, darkness claiming him as he slipped from consciousness and beyond.

Alex’s classmates began to worry on the third day. To miss one lecture was odd enough but to miss four. Jasmine agreed to go to his dorm and track him down. Jack, the quarterback, went with her _just in case_ and it was he who kicked the door in when there was no answer to either their knocks, shouts or yelling.

Jasmine’s screams alerted near on everyone. She stood in the center of Alex’s room, his stupid Greek posters of Gods and monsters plastering the walls, his costumes for the game hanging neatly in the closet, bottles of Greek wine on his table untouched. 

Alex was in the bed; his body was white, as was his face, everything about him, his skin, his hair, his fingernails, hell even his eyeballs had turned to hard alabaster. His expression, albeit, frozen was serene and, if anyone had stood him on his feet, he would have looked just like one of the Greek statues he so obviously adored.

Dean Winchester poured a generous slug of whiskey into his glass and watched the amber liquid as it trickled over the ice. He took a grateful swig and felt the warmth of the alcohol followed by the sudden sting of ice. He stretched out his back for a moment, his legs kicking out beneath the old, oak desk. His elbow caught a pile of books and two of them skittered and fell before he could catch them. The thump they made as they hit the tiled floor made his brother jump a little and Sam’s bitch face met his guilty expression head on as he put down the glass and bent to pick up the books.

“Those books are over three century’s old, Dean,” Sam’s voice was rough, sounded as if he had been smoking twenty a day. As Dean watched, Sam put his hand over his mouth almost surreptitiously and coughed harshly. Dean felt his head begin to ache a little and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose to stop from frowning, pushing what was left of his whiskey over to his brother, indicating that he should drink it. Sam took the glass in shaky hands and slugged the liquid down. He rubbed his left palm over his mouth and Dean _pretended_ not to see the smear of red on Sam’s fingers when he drew it back.

He damn well knew Sam was keeping something from him, always knew when Sam was being secretive. Years in his brother’s company had left him with a sixth sense as far as Sam was concerned and Dean always knew when Sam was hiding something, when Sam was lying.

Sam did it a lot – sneaky bitch that he was. Kept the fact he was slugging down demon blood from Dean, hid the fact he was soulless, tried to play off his hallucinations as just _tiredness_. If Dean had dollars for every secret Sam had kept from him he’d be a fucking millionaire by now but instead he’d just let himself grow resigned and slightly bitter, knowing, deep down, that they would never really get their old closeness back, that the baby brother he nursed and, virtually, parented was gone forever and this brooding man before him was all that he had left of his _Sammy_.

“You got anything?” Dean was good at changing the subject at least, deflecting away from the obvious. Sam wiped his mouth again and swirled, what was left of the ice, around in the glass, eyes going alternatively from Dean to his computer and back again.

“Not a great deal, things are fairly quiet.” Sam tapped on the table with his fingers. “Maybe you should spin by and see Kevin again, see if he’s gotten any further with the tablet.”

“Only went a few days ago.” Dean wanted it almost as much as Sam and yet, deep within him, he didn’t want it to ever happen. He wished, fervently and not for the first time, that it had been him that had killed that hellhound, him that had been covered from head to toe in demon blood. “We should give the kid a chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sam nodded as if he had been playing some sort of scenario out in his head. “Well there is this one odd case.” He turned the laptop so that Dean could see it and Dean frowned as he stared at the picture on Sam’s laptop not quite sure he was entirely sober.

There was a newspaper with the lurid headline, **Grade-A college student turns to stone** and underneath that was a picture of, what looked like, an ancient statue, shining alabaster, the features clear, facial expression serene. Underneath the picture was the name, _Alex Gordon_ and several quotes from his college buddies. Dean could feel the frown on his face and he raised his eyes to his brother.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, pretty weird, right? Guy was a geek and – get this – he spent every other Saturday night _Larping_. He and his buddies set up a three dimensional model of ancient Greece, complete with their own Mount Olympus and Aegean Sea. Some of the larpers were Gods, some of them mythical heroes such as Perseus or monsters like the Kraken. They would play out various scenarios and see who came out victorious.”

“Sounds riveting.” Dean grinned then, remembering fondly the time they had spent in Moon Door with Charlie. “Sounds like he needed to get out more.”

“He was a smart kid.” Sam changed the picture on the laptop to reveal he has hacked into the college library computer. This new picture is of a pleasant looking boy with long messy hair, a scrappy beard and round glasses. He is staring – a little scared – into the camera. “Passed all of his classes with flying colors.”

“So what do the authorities think?” Didn’t matter what they thought, not really, because in Dean’s experience they were always wrong. Sam bit his lip for a moment and rocked back on his chair. There was color in his face now, a smear of pink along high boned cheeks.

“They had the CDC looking into it, took the body away but they couldn’t autopsy it because – um – the whole thing was stone – alabaster to be precise.”

“Shit, Sam.” Dean bent forward to stare at the kid in the photo, a stab of sympathy clenching his gut. “That’s not possible.”

“Our kind of thing then?” Sam quirked an eyebrow at Dean, dimple appearing in his left cheek, a hint of a smile.

“Most definitely our kind of thing.” Dean got to his feet and cracked his spine. “Where are we going, Sammy?”

“Boston,” Sam said, his fingers playing over the screen. “Little town just outside of it actually. Mostly students and Fair Trade stores.” He grinned a little, eyes teasing. “Just your type of place really.”

Dean nodded, just happy to get the show on the road.

“Yeah,” he agreed with some sarcasm. “Just my type of place.”

The town was quaint enough. It was small and self-contained, a couple of diners, two bars, a movie theater, a shop that looked like it sold antiques and old artifacts, a gym and a steakhouse that Dean made a note of for later.

“Do you think there is even a motel here?” Dean turned the car off the main street and onto another small side road. “We are gonna’ need somewhere to stay.”

“There are a couple of Guest House which may have vacancies.” Sam looked up from his laptop. “A couple of streets from here, if this map is correct.” He grinned at Dean’s reluctant expression. “Come on, Dean! It’s for a week at the longest.”

“Yeah, heard that one before Sam.” Dean shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. He had been driving for a while and he was tired and hungry, in need of a beer or maybe something stronger.

“Here, Dean.” Sam interrupted his thoughts and he put his foot on the brake as they coasted to a halt. Dean turned his head to peer out of the window and he, internally, grimaced as he saw the house Sam had pointed out.

“Just screams old lady,” Dean muttered. “I bet it stinks of cat and lilac – you remember that place back in Idaho when we were hunting there with dad? Urgh, my skin still crawls thinking about it.”

“Come on Dean.” Sam was already out of the car, cracking his spine and rubbing at his knees. His face was pale again, eyes a little unfocused and Dean tried to ignore the cough he heard building up in his little brother’s throat. “I’m fucking tired and I’m sure you are.” He gestured to the pink fronted house with the neat rose garden and lavender curtains. “At least it won’t stink of damp and the water pressure will be nice.”

“I swear if there’s a cat I’m out of there,” Dean grumbled as he got the backpacks out of the trunk. “Understand?”

“Yeah okay.” Sam took the steps two at a time and rang the tinkling door bell, standing back and running a hand through his, too long hair, trying to smarten himself up a bit.

The woman who opened the door was younger than Dean expected. She greeted them with a wide smile and invited them through the door. The rooms were light and airy and all of them had their own bathroom and shower. Sam signed them in under their real names and she showed them into a large double with lacy white curtains and, what looked like, doilies on the vanity. The room overlooked a large park and Dean felt himself relax for a moment, shoulders slumping and tension easing, the sudden need for a bath or shower becoming stronger.

He heard Sam asking the woman – _call me Vicki_ \- if she had known the boy who had _died_. Sam was using his _‘aw shucks look at innocent little me’ voice_ and Vicki was responding. He didn’t know what cover Sam was using – if any – but the words were flooding out of Vicki’s mouth as if she couldn’t retain them, her voice light and vaguely sympathetic, telling Sam little more than he knew already from his research.

Afterwards they sat on their respective beds, Dean leaning against the, obscenely, soft pillows, legs crossed at the ankles, Sam stretched out long and lean, eyes half closed.

“She tell you anything?” Dean asked, finally. “Anything new, I mean?”

“She didn’t know much but she did suggest we go and talk to Maggie at _Past Times_. That’s the antique shop in the square. Apparently Alex used to go in there to buy _authentic_ Greek stuff like statues and things. According to Vicki, Maggie knows everything.”

“Yeah.” Dean stretched out and felt his stomach rumble. “Let’s go tomorrow and have some food tonight. That steakhouse looked good.”

“Sure.” Sam suppressed a cough and rubbed his eyes. There were deep shadows beneath them and he looked, suddenly, exhausted, “I could eat.”

“You okay Sammy?” Dean really wanted to know the truth even though he knew he wasn’t going to get it. Winchester’s didn’t talk, didn’t discuss their feelings or emotions. He knew it was partially his dad’s fault but he also knew he had to carry some of the blame. He didn’t really do _chick flick moments_ but perhaps he should have. 

“Just tired.” Sam’s smile was slight at best. “Long drive, not quite used to it yet. You know, I was pretty stationary when I lived with . . . ,” he trailed off as if he shouldn’t actually be talking about it and Dean’s guilt stabbed long and hard.

“I’m gonna’ nap for a while,” Dean said, finally, hoping that Sam would get the hint and maybe do the same thing. “We’ll shower after and then go out and eat, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good.” Sam’s eyes were already closing and Dean felt a stab of stupid relief. Sam put his head back on the pillow and, after a while, his deep breathing told Dean that he was asleep. Dean watched his brother for a while and then got up off the bed and turned on the computer. He was a man of letters too, he reasoned, capable of doing research just as much as Sam was and he was determined to have something interesting to tell his brother when he finally woke up again.

The last time Sam had eaten steak it was from a grill in his backyard in Kermit. Amelia had made salad and some sort of rice dish while Riot literally, _ran riot_ trying to decide who might give him some of the perfectly grilled meat first. The cuts thick and juicy, bought from one of Amelia’s favorite butchers.

Sam often wondered where that life had gone, how it had vanished so quickly into his memory. He never knew if Amelia turned up that night, and made it to the motel room to find it empty. He kind of hoped she hadn’t but he suspected that she had and it was just one more thing to feel guilty about, one more thing to keep him awake at night.

The steakhouse they were in was small but lively, full of students, typical of a restaurant in a college town. All the clientele looked young and fresh faced yet they were probably only seven or eight years younger than Sam. He was reminded of the time they had hunted the Hookman, and how they had pretended, successfully, to be pledges. They would never get away with that now, both of them barely into their thirties yet looking older, worn down, and weary. He held back a cough and swallowed down some water, his eyes flickering over to where his brother was sitting, Dean concentrating on his steak, chewing enthusiastically and only breaking off to take long swallows from his beer.

“Do you know what would make this better?”

Dean’s sudden question shook him out of his thoughts and he shrugged. “I bet I could guess.” He glanced over to where their waitress was hovering, pretty blue eyes on Dean’s face, her thoughts obvious.  
“Cherry pie,” Dean’s voice was breathy, excited. “With ice cream.”  
Sam laughed then, the tension in his shoulders easing. He glanced around the room again and wondered how many of the students here had known their _victim_ , wondered what could have happened to _seemingly_ turn the boy to stone.

“Go for it,” he said to his brother. “You deserve it.”

The green eyes that met his were sparkling, lively and Dean looked happier than he had in a while.

“Yeah I do,” Dean agreed, finally. “I really, really do.”

“You made it then.”

He leaned against the bar almost too surprised to put anything much into words. He hadn’t expected her to show but he was, stupidly, pleased that she had and he couldn’t wait to relate his story to his buddies back in the dorm.

“Of course.” She put a pale, manicured hand on his arm and smiled, sweetly. “Didn’t you think I would?”

“I thought . . . .” He shrugged. “I thought you were a little out of my league.”

“Of course not.” She shook her head and he couldn’t take his eyes off her for a moment, entranced by her beauty, her etherealness, and the way she seemed to glide across the floor towards him, all elegance and style. “Are we going back to your place?”

His heart pounded with excitement he had never imagined that she would want him like this. She was quite a bit older than him, mature, worldly. He stared at her now, standing in front of him, pale white skin and soft red lips, long raven hair curling delicately around smooth shoulders. He swallowed hard, wondering what color her eyes were behind the tinted glasses that she always wore, knowing that in less than an hour he would find out.

He brushed crumbs from his bed and offered her a seat there hoping she didn’t think he was too forward. She smiled at him and sat down, gesturing that he should join her. She ran her hand across his shoulders and her expression was serene.

“You work out.” It was a statement not a question. “You have a good body.”

“I’m a line-backer.” He swallowed, his body beginning to awaken to her _charms_. She nodded, sagely and brushed her fingers down his chest.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispered and his clumsy fingers moved fast, tangling in buttons, shoving the material down off his body, revealing muscles and skin. “Beautiful.” He continued to undress and she reached for him, her hands at his belt. He swallowed, knowing that she would see everything. He was aroused, confused and his face was flushed hot with excitement and embarrassment.

She didn’t appear to notice, just leaned forward and lifted her sunglasses, her eyes suddenly flashing fire.

For a moment he thought he had gone blind, a strange hissing noise permeating everything, sucking the air from the room, his erection fading as he fought for breath. Then all was calm again and he blinked once or twice to find himself alone in the room, mind blank with confusion, his mouth dry. He wondered why she had suddenly fled and considered going after her but he was naked and felt really, really foolish. Maybe she hadn’t been interested in him after all.

An hour later he felt so stiff he thought he might have caught something. He ran a bath and, while he waited for the tub to fill, he stood by the mirror staring at his reflection, a vague panic beginning to form in his mind. He looked too pale, almost white and his eyes were odd, the pupils too wide. He tried to open his mouth but his jaw locked and he began to panic in earnest, breath coming thick and fast yet his heart almost static in his chest, a roaring in his ears, fingers locked around the sink as the bath filled and overflowed.

The artifact shop was full of odd objects, paintings and old books that Sam thought might fit nicely into the _‘Men of Letters’_ library. As they dove deeper into the store they found other, more random, objects, cases of stamps and jewelry, stuffed animals and, in a corner under a sign clearly marked _Ancient Greece_ several marble and alabaster statues. They appeared to be figures of various Gods or monsters and Dean stood in front of the Minotaur, his head to one side.

“Now that . . . ,” he said with a grin. “Is pretty damn cool.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t afford it.” Sam shook his head, wryly.

“It’d look nice in my new room.” Dean ran his hand over the white stone. “It’s pretty good.”

“Can I help you?”

A woman appeared from behind one of the bookcases, she was tall and skinny with her hair wrapped in a scarf, a long skirt swishing around her ankles, her small breasts hardly hidden beneath the peasant blouse that she wore. She was smiling, friendly and business-like and Dean smiled back, reaching inside his suit pocket to produce his ID.

“Agents Jagger and Wood.” He put away the ID and turned back to the woman. “We are investigating the possible murder of Alex Douglas and we were informed that the boy may have come in here to buy some of his more _authentic_ artifacts.

“That’s correct, Agent.” If the woman was disturbed by being interviewed by the FBI she didn’t show it. “He was in here a lot, nice kid, a bit geeky but you know . . . .” Her smile was warmer now. “They love their games, these days.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “He was into role playing we hear.”

“Alex ran the Greek Odyssey group,” the woman tried for dignity as she replied but she was trying hard not to laugh. “They met in the quadrangle most weeks. A lot of them came in here to buy costumes and stuff. Very authentic apparently.”

“Did they purchase any of these?” Dean’s hand swept over the statues. “They are very good.”

“They couldn’t really afford these.” The woman petted a statue of, what looked like, Zeus. “I have them custom made and the person who makes them is very private. They only do one or two every three months or so. Realistic, aren’t they?”

“Very.” Sam noticed that Dean was caressing the Minotaur again and he shot him a look that, he hoped, was close to his bitch face of old. “Do you have a full set of Gods yet?”

“Nearly. Most heroes, too – but I am still waiting for my Perseus,” she sighed. “These things take time.”

“Indeed.” Sam gave Dean a nudge with his shoulder. “Thank you Miss . . . .”

“Maggie,” the woman replied and gave Sam a genuine smile. “Call me, Maggie.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Sam shook her hand and she looked him up and down.

“When I get my Perseus,” she cooed, “I hope he’s as good looking as you, Agent Wood.”

Sam felt his cheeks flare and Dean sniggered.

“Thanks,” he managed. “Now do you know where Alex lived?”

“Yes.” She went over to her cabinet and drew out a small notebook. She tore out a page and handed it to Sam. “He ordered enough that I had his address written down,” she sighed. “I hope you find who did this,” she added. “It was a very disturbing thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “Very disturbing. It’s not every day people appear to turn to stone – very Greek, wouldn’t you say?”

“We don’t have Medusa here,” Maggie answered, “but I know what you mean.” 

She waved as they departed and Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder with a grin.

“You want to watch it,” he said. “She had her beady eye on you, Perseus”

Sam groaned.

There was a **Police Line – Don’t Cross** notice taped outside the dorm rooms and a couple of cops standing by, eyes narrowing as Sam and Dean approached.

Despite the fact that it was more than a year (nearer two if truth be known) since the Leviathans had taken their identity and forced them underground, Sam still felt uneasy around cops. He often thought that they would be recognized, that they would be arrested and separated. Deep down, despite everything that had gone wrong between them in the last few years, it was Sam’s deepest, darkest fear. He couldn’t bear to lose Dean again, to be left alone again. He had never coped well without his brother and it was quite frightening how co-dependent they actually were.

Dean didn’t appear to have the same problem. He strode right up to the two cops and showed them his _FBI badge_. They nodded and lifted the tape so that the two of them could go underneath and enter the dorm rooms. Sam found himself looking around, throat tightening as he let the familiar scent of sweat, polish and fabric conditioner fill his nostrils. It seemed like an eternity since he had been a student, keen and eager and wanting _normal_ but certain things still sent him back to those long days of study when all he wanted was to be a lawyer and marry Jess.

They entered Alex’s room and began to look around. Dean had the EMF meter held, surreptitiously, beneath his jacket but it was completely dead and Sam wondered if the boy’s death really had been down to some new strain of disease rather than the supernatural.

They hadn’t been able to get to see the _body_. It had been taken to an undisclosed location that not even _the feds_ could access. Sam felt an odd stab of disappointment about that because he was fascinated about it, curious to know what had actually happened, and what had caused the phenomenon.

The room was pretty normal, untidy, not particularly well-kept. There was a bookcase in the corner that was jammed with books, both for study and pleasure, tomes on Greek myth and philosophy, books on Plato and Socrates. There were posters on the walls, huge landscapes of the Greek islands and illustrations of Greek Gods. There was a cheap plaster bust of some random Greek guy on the table and there were a few costumes in the closet. Sam held one up to scrutinize it, waiting for Dean to make some snarky remark but whatever might have happened next was preceded by a sudden loud shout, the sound of running footsteps and a female voice screaming over and over that they had _found another one_.

Dean was out of the door and running across the quad before Sam even had time to register what was happening. He took off after his brother almost catching his ankle on the tape as he, virtually, leaped over it. He could see the red brick dorm rooms and the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulances. He caught up with his brother and they exchanged glances, this was real and it was happening now.

They got through the general melee by flashing their badges. There were several students standing at the top of the stairs all still wearing pajamas or sweat pants. One girl was crying piteously and being comforted by a massive looking guy who must have been a football player. Sam brushed by them and entered the room. Two plain clothes cops turned to see who had walked in and Sam’s chest went tight, his heart pounding a little harder than it should be.

“Agents.” The older cop’s face segued into an expression of relief. “Am I glad to see you?”  
Dean nodded, business-like. “I hear there has been another – um – incident,” he said. “Can we see the victim?”

“Of course.” The cop took his arm and led him towards the bathroom. “He is in here.”

Dean went into the room and Sam went to follow. He heard his brother take in a sharp intake of breath and then he spoke, gruff and afraid, his voice wavering in a way that made Sam feel oddly anxious. “Agent Woods,” he began. “You need to see this!”

Sam had seen a lot of things in his time as a hunter. He had been soulless and in hell, he had suffered hallucinations and had visions but he had never seen anything quite like this.

There was, what looked like, a statue standing in front of the small sink. It was clean, white alabaster and formed the shape of a man. The body was naked, each limb perfectly formed, long muscular legs, taut calves, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The arms reached out towards the sink and the hands clutched at the bowl, fingers almost blending in with the stoneware. As Sam moved towards the front of the _body_ he could see the flatness of its abdomen, the indents of ribs on the chest, the cock and balls perfectly formed and hanging limp between dimpled thighs. If Sam hadn’t known any better he would have believed that this was one of the statues from Maggie’s shop and he stared at the _thing_ in front of him, unable to comprehend or even begin to explain what he was seeing.

“Shit Sammy,” Dean hissed through clenched teeth. “He really has turned to stone.”

Sam nodded, mouth dust dry. He turned to the cop who had appeared in the doorway, face almost as pale as the victim.

“We – we would like to speak to his closest friends if possible. We need to ascertain how long he has been l-like this.” He swallowed hard. “What are you going to do with the body?”

“We have to contact the CDC,” the cop replied unsure. “We hoped you guys might have a solution.”

Sam felt that odd tightness again, a nervous reaction to all that had gone before.

“No officer,” Dean sounded cocky, confident, even though Sam knew he wasn’t, could tell even by his tone. “We don’t have jurisdiction on this one but we do want to know just what is happening here. If we are looking for some sort of sick serial killer or . . . ,” he trailed off and Sam could almost hear the unspoken _monster_ in Dean’s statement. He was certain now that this was definitely _their thing_ and he wondered what sort of creature could do this.

As his mind cleared it was like a light bulb going pop in his brain. He recalled what Dean had said to Maggie about Alex’s death being _very Greek_ and he rubbed at his forehead as the realization hit him.

They may be dealing with a Gorgon.

A few years back, when they started this thing, looking for the demon that had killed mom and hunting angry spirits and witches, Dean would have laughed in Sam’s face if he had even suggested they were looking for a mythical creature, a monster from ancient Greece that could turn men to stone. Now though he didn’t even question it.  
Only a few weeks ago they had been on a case involving Prometheus and Zeus, they had fought with, and alongside, angels and demons, met pagan Gods, spent a night in the _Elysian Fields_ with Kali and Odin. Nothing much shocked Dean now and, instead, he felt a stab of excitement at the thought of facing Medusa, wondering if she looked like Ray Harryhausen’s version or if she was totally different in these modern times.

“A Gorgon, Sammy?” He quirked his lips and shook his head, knowing Sam would expect it. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Sam was hunched over his laptop again. 

_They had come back from the dorm rooms after the body had been taken away. Dean couldn’t forget the sight of the boy’s rigid form being carried down the stairs and into the waiting ambulance, couldn’t get it out of his mind, still hearing the sobbing of the boy’s friends as they watched, shocked at the fact. Even the other guys were crying._

_The interviews had been fairly straight forward._

_The guy, Robbie, had been a line-backer and quite a popular guy. He was _‘one for the ladies’_ , one of his colleagues was quick to tell them with a wry and surprisingly tearful smile. He went on to explain that Robbie always had a girl or two on the go and the others often teased him for it._

_“Thing is . . . ,” the guy had whispered this much, almost confidentially. “He claimed to be seeing this older lady but we never actually saw her or met her and we kinda’ thought he wasn’t entirely truthful. Apparently he was meeting her last night but whether he did or if she even exists I have no friggin’ idea.”_

_Sam had made notes as the others talked._

_“Do Robbie and Alex – the other guy – have anything in common?” Dean had asked and the guy he had been talking to sniggered._

_“Alex approached Robbie one day and asked if he would like to join his – um – group. Apparently they were missing a Perseus and Alex thought Robbie would make a good one. Robbie thought Alex was a geek, you understand, but he was pretty flattered by the attention.” The guy shook his head as if he didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “So he ACTUALLY joined, can you believe it? He joined that guy’s geeky group. Only went when it didn’t clash with football practice.” The guy had shrugged, his eyes suddenly sad. “He really enjoyed that stupid group.”_

“Well.” Dean perched on a chair next to Sam and glanced over his shoulder. “We keep hearing the name Perseus, don’t we?”

Sam turned the laptop so that Dean could see it better. There was a picture on the screen of a muscular man with long hair and broad shoulders. He wore a typical Greek style toga with body armor over his chest and thighs. In his left hand he had a bright gold shield and in his right a sharp looking sword. As Sam clicked the mouse, the picture changed and, this time, the man was still holding the shield but in his hand he held the disembodied head of the Gorgon, snakes limp and grey around his fingers, the wild eyes closed, skin green and rotting.

“According to myth Perseus killed Medusa,” Sam said. “He was a hero – saved Andromeda from the Kraken.”

“I saw that film,” Dean said, with a snigger. “He used the Medusa’s head to turn it to stone.”

“I’m not sure if that was Greek myth or Hollywood crap.” Sam shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Whatever, it is pretty clear that Perseus killed the Gorgon – so how can she still be around now?”

“Maybe myth was wrong.” Dean stared at the picture in front of him. “But even if _Medusa_ is still alive today how would she fit in? I mean she wasn’t the most attractive of chicks.” He ran his hand over the image of the Gorgon and shuddered. “She’d soon get noticed, wouldn’t she?”

“If she were in her _natural_ form, yeah, I guess she would, but if she does still exist, who knows what she is actually capable of. She might be able to shape-shift, you know or even disguise herself.”

“So what are we looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Sam slammed the laptop lid down and Dean heard the frustration in his voice. “This isn’t exactly a straight forward case.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Dean reached out and gave his brother’s tense shoulder a quick but gentle squeeze. “Come on Sammy, you look all in – why don’t you nap for a while. I’ll do some more research.”

For a moment he thought Sam was going to protest but, instead, his brother smiled gratefully. He got up and, virtually, staggered over to the bed. With a sigh he flopped down and, in minutes, he was asleep.

Sam looked pale; his eyelids were blue and there were specks of blood at the side of his mouth. Dean resisted the urge to pull the blankets over his body and tuck him up like he used to when Sam was a baby. He wanted to protect his brother from everything but he knew it just wasn’t possible.

He turned back to the laptop and lifted the lid. The images of the Gorgon were pretty rank. She certainly was an ugly bitch and those snakes . . . . He shuddered. How could any woman hide something like that? He shook his head. Wigs, hats, even a hood wouldn’t completely conceal a fucking head full of serpents. He clicked off that page and made a decision. He was pretty sure that this all led back to Alex’s Greek night. He remembered MoonDoor and wondered if Alex had set up his own internet site. Dean typed some details into the search engine and wasn’t particularly surprised when, after a few minutes of clicking, he found it.

What he really needed was a list of people who attended Alex’s _nights_. There were photos on the web, males and females in garish Greek costume, an impressive 3D model of _Ancient Greece_ and instructions on where and when the group met. It was pretty authentic from what Dean could tell, most of the stories were based on Greek myth and most of the characters were either Gods or monsters. Despite this Dean couldn’t find any evidence that _Medusa_ had been part of Alex’s role-playing and he frowned, clicking the mouse and scrolling down the page hunting, frantically, for clues.

He finally found a name – Jasmine Green. Apparently Jasmine was one of Alex’s classmates and the girl that had found his body. She was also an active member of the group taking the part of the Greek Goddess, Aphrodite. Dean clicked on her profile and found a small photograph. The girl was plain, ordinary looking with mousy hair and a smile that was slightly marred by a blue retainer. There were some pictures of her dressed in long gold robes, her hair loose around her bony shoulders. Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded to himself. Jasmine was certainly a lead and maybe, through her, they would find out a little more about _Ancient Greece_ and its very real monsters.

Sam looked marginally better when he woke up and Dean suggested that they go and find Jasmine. He couldn’t find an address for her but he did manage to access her student schedule and she had a Greek Philosophy class later that day, just after lunch.

“Why don’t we sit in the class for a while, Sammy?” 

Dean felt relief as he gazed at his brother. Sam had showered, eaten some cereal and drunk two cups of coffee. There was color in his cheeks again and the shadows had vanished from around his eyes. He smiled at Dean and nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, why not? It’s been a while since I actually went to a lecture.” Sam sighed and Dean could almost read his mind, knew his little brother was thinking of Stanford and happier times, knew he was thinking about Jess.

“I bet you loved ‘em didn’t you, Sammy?” He elbowed Sam in the soft skin under his ribs just to hear his _umph_ of discomfort. “Always in bed on time, tucked up nice and warm dreaming of your next assignment, those long summer nights studying.”

“I did have some sort of social life, Dean.” Sam shook his head and opened the motel door. “You know what you always used to say – all work and no play makes Sam a very dull boy.”

“I kinda’ wish I had seen you at college.” Dean couldn’t help it, the words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. “We could have gone out for a keg or two, done stupid brotherly things, maybe hazed a few freshmen or somethin’.”

“I wish you could have seen me too, Dean.” Sam smiled wryly. “We keep missing each other, don’t we? Years apart through no fault of our own, letting other people in.” He stopped at the Impala and leaned against the car, his face reflected in the cool metal. “We’re okay now though,” his voice was soft and almost pleading in tone. “I’m gonna’ get through these trials and we are gonna’ come out of it together, okay?”

Dean swallowed down something hard in his throat and nodded.

“Yeah, Sammy.” He hoped it didn’t come out as desperate or as hopeless as he felt right then. “We are gonna’ come out of it together.”

They slipped into the back of the lecture hall and settled down to listen. The theater was huge and, surprisingly, full, eager students bent over their notepads, pens scratching at the paper. The lecturer, a small, dumpy woman in her late fifties, was lively and interesting, ringed adorned fingers waving in the air as she talked, her grey hair falling around her face, large topaz earrings dangling, and bracelets jangling at her wrists.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam. The old biddy looked eccentric enough, swarthy skin and dark eyes giving away her heritage. She had a slight accent, soft and barely there, her enthusiasm for her subject being passed on to her students.

She was talking about Aristotle and his formation of the 4th century BC Peripatetic school. It should be boring but it was interesting, fascinating even and Dean had to shake himself when she had finished, almost forgetting they had a job to do. 

He waited until nearly all the students had filed out of the theater. He had spotted Jasmine in the front row and noticed that she was now in deep conversation with the woman who had been giving the lecture. He and Sam walked down the steps and onto the platform, Sam clearing his throat gently to get Jasmine’s attention.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am.” Sam’s smile was genuine, dimples and all. “I’m Agent Wood and this is Agent Jagger, we are investigating the deaths of Alex Douglas and Robbie Shaw.”

“Oh.” Jasmine went pale and she stumbled a little, the lecturer putting her arm around the girl to keep her steady. “Am I in trouble?”

“No ma’am.” Sam put his hand on her shoulder. “We just need to find out a few things and we know you were part of the role-playing game. We hoped you might be able to help us.”

“You should talk to these young gentlemen, Jasmine,” the tutor spoke suddenly and she turned to Dean and Sam with a smile. “They might be able to find out who has been doing these terrible things.”

“Thank you Mrs. . . . .”

“Miss, my name is Miss Constantine. Jennifer Constantine. I taught those poor young men. It is so very sad – one such a fine athlete, the other so bright, so smart. I would like, very much, to find out what has been happening here.”

“Thank you Miss Constantine.” Dean raised his eyebrows again and Sam grinned swiftly before turning back to Jasmine.

“Shall we sit ladies?” Sam said, smoothly. “Jasmine would you like Miss Constantine to stay?”

Jasmine nodded and sat on the desk, Miss Constantine took the chair next to it and they both turned eager eyes to Sam as if waiting for his next move.  
“So.” Sam leaned forward. “Tell me more about this role-playing group.”

“Alex set it up,” Jasmine’s voice was quiet. “We played most Saturdays and each of us had a role to play so to speak. Alex was Zeus of course and there were others who came and went. We wouldn’t follow the stories word for word, we made up our own some of the time. It was a bit like – um – Dungeons and Dragons only with Greek myths. We sometimes had problems finding members - most people thought we were a bit freaky to be honest.” She flushed. “Alex was pretty good at finding members though, he had a bit of charm and could flatter most people.”

“Did you have heroes and villains in your group?”

“Yes, we needed both for the games to work.” Jasmine smiled a little then. “We tried to involve all the characters but sometimes we had a job finding the right _‘fit’_ , if you understand my meaning.”

Sam nodded. “Did you have a Medusa?” He asked, abruptly.

Jasmine visibly paled, her eyes wide and black, fearful. Sam leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “Did you?” He repeated.

“No,” she answered, finally. “But she was one of the playing pieces and – um – that was one of the problems.”

“Problems?”

“Yeah because, whatever we did, Medusa would always avoid capture, always get away, and always win.” She looked flustered. “Alex said it was because we didn’t have a good Perseus to slay her and so he asked Robbie.” She shrugged. “I thought it was a mistake because, to be honest, he was all brawn and no brains.” Her eyes flicked up so that she could take in Sam, and Dean sniggered under his breath, amused despite himself, as she looked him up and down, head to toe. “Perseus should be clever as well as strong,” she added. “He needed to be able to think, to deceive her and he couldn’t.”

“So Robbie wasn’t much good then.” Sam’s cheeks were a little flushed under all the scrutiny.

“No. Not really.”

“But if you didn’t have a Medusa how could she always come out on top?” Dean broke into the conversation.

“We used cards and die,” Jasmine explained. “They always fell in her favor.”

“Tell me about that last night.”

“This woman approached Alex. None of us had seen her before. She was elegant looking, cloaked and mysterious. We all presumed it was someone he had invited. She seemed to glide and . . . .” Jasmine paled a little before continuing, “When she moved I swore I could hear hissing. Alex spoke to her for a while and then – it seems funny when I say it like this but she just seemed to vanish. I thought maybe I’d had too much to drink but there again.”

“Who else was there that night?” Sam asked.

“All of the group were,” Jasmine answered. “It was a very popular night.”

“Do you have names?” Sam asked, gently. “We need to speak to all of them, see if we can get to the bottom of this.”

Jasmine looked alarmed for a moment and Miss Constantine spoke for the first time, her demeanor gentle.

“Give him the information child, it is for the good of the group, who knows what this lunatic will do next, you need to be safe.”

Jasmine swallowed hard; she looked guilty for a moment and then she sighed. “We met one last time,” she explained. “A few nights ago as a sort of tribute to Alex. We wanted to defeat Medusa,” she laughed but it was forced. “We still needed a Perseus though.”

Dean nudged Sam in the ribs and heard the exhale of his breath. He looked up to see that familiar bitch face and couldn’t help but grin. Sam was tense, he could see it in the set of his shoulders and Dean was tempted to suggest they meet again and let Sam be their hero. Jasmine was looking hopeful too but Sam shook his head and continued.

“Was Robbie with you when you met?”

“Yeah, he was gloating about his new girlfriend.” Jasmine looked a little peeved. “Not really concentrating if truth be known, and Medusa won again.”

“And Robbie turned up rigid after the group,” Dean hissed into Sam’s ear and Sam nodded his agreement.

“We really need that list,” he said.

“It’s in my dorm room,” Jasmine said. “207 Beech. I’ll meet you there if you like, I have one more class.”

“Okay.” Sam took down the address and looked at his watch. “In three hours from now – about 7pm – that suit you?”

“Yes.” Jasmine looked him up and down again wistfully. “I’ll see you then.”

“They certainly like the look of you, Sammy.” Dean nudged his brother’s shoulder again and heard the huff of Sam’s breath. “Shame we didn’t get here earlier, you coulda’ joined up.”

“She was right though,” Sam said. “Perseus was more than just brawn. He had to think about how to kill Medusa – one look at her and he would have fallen like all the rest, yet he managed to surmount that and actually destroy her.”

“Or not,” Dean added. “Do you really think that is what we might be dealing with?”

“Could be.” Sam shrugged. “Why not?”

“How could she hide in such plain sight?”

“You remember the Siren, don’t you?” Sam glanced across at him, eyes narrowed, expression quietly guarded.

“Yeah,” Dean swallowed. “I remember.”

“Sirens were creatures of Greek myth too,” Sam said. “In all the writings about them they are portrayed as beautiful women who sat on rocks and whose song was so powerful it lured innocent sailors to their deaths.” Sam glanced at him again, this time his eyes were full of long held apologies. “ _Our_ Siren wasn’t much like that was it? It could shape-shift, Dean, appear as a fantasy woman, or a fantasy man. Maybe, just maybe, the Medusa can do that too.”

“You think?” Dean frowned. “Like our Siren? She can shape-shift? Maybe something in her can make people hallucinate.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, glad that they had gotten past the Siren part, wanting to forget that instant in time, wipe it from his memory, lose it in the turmoil of other bad memories, some better, some worse.

“So, in reality, we have no idea what we are looking for.”

Sam looked at his brother and sighed. “Exactly,” he agreed.

Jasmine was about to put her key card in the lock when someone touched her shoulder. She turned around to see a girl, about her own age, standing there smiling. She wore a plain black top and tight black jeans tucked into cowboy boots and it was hard to see her face as she had a baseball cap pulled down almost to her nose and Jasmine could see a glimpse of dyed green hair, smell something odd and earthy.

“Can I help you?” She was proud that her voice didn’t waver, even though the girl was smaller than her and thin, there was something threatening about her and Jasmine felt very uneasy.

“I came to ask about the group.” The girl stepped away a little, her hand falling from Jasmine’s shoulder. “Has it ceased now that Alex Douglas has gone?”

Jasmine frowned at the odd terminology the girl was using. She inclined her head a little. “For now,” she replied. “I’m sorry.”

The girl leaned in and Jasmine swore she heard an odd rustling sound coming from beneath the cap, something liquid and slithery. Jasmine turned and started to fumble with her card, the sudden urge to be inside her dorm room making her hands tremble, her heartbeat stutter.

“Don’t be sorry, Jasmine,” the girl’s voice was haunting and Jasmine felt compelled to turn to look at her, her mouth dry as she opened it to speak. “You can still be useful to me.” 

The girl raised her cap a little and her eyes flashed, Jasmine felt startled, her whole body tensing, her heart thundering so fast she thought she was going to pass out, hyperventilating, her breath coming thick and harsh. She pitched forward and the girl caught her with surprisingly strong arms. She heard a whispered, _’I’m the one who should be sorry, Jasmine.’_ before darkness took her and she knew nothing more.

Sam knocked on the door again and bit his lip. Beside him Dean looked pretty twitchy, his hand reaching inside his leather jacket in a way that made it clear he had his fingers on his gun.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Dean looked irritated and there were a few students appearing in the corridor all of them more than curious.

“According to the paper she gave us, yeah.” Sam knocked again. “I don’t think she is here, Dean.”

“Maybe she got scared and changed her mind,” Dean said but it didn’t sound convincing.  
Sam knocked again, loud and hard, his voice sharp as he called out, “Jasmine. FBI, open up.”

There was no response and Sam nodded to Dean who stepped forward and kicked down the door. It splintered as he put his boot through it and swung open to reveal an empty dorm room with, what looked like, a battered key card lying on the floor.

“Someone got to her first,” Sam said as he bent and picked up the key card. It had several numbers on it and Jasmine’s name. “But who?”

“The Gorgon?” Dean peered around the empty room, his heart sinking as he realized their only real lead had gone.

“Maybe.” Sam hunkered down for a moment. “You know, Dean, I think we are going about this the wrong way. We keep thinking, _what are we looking for?_ but what we really should be thinking is _who_?”

“You think she is here? On campus?”

“Perhaps,” Sam sighed. “If only we could have gotten that list from Jasmine.”

“We need to look for her,” Dean said. “She could be in danger.”

“I think we might be too late,” Sam swallowed as he thought about Jasmine’s fate. “Whoever took her must have known we were meeting her, but how?”

“That lecturer was there when we made arrangements.” Dean frowned. “Miss Constantine.”

“Yeah, but who knows who Jasmine saw afterwards. This is a busy campus, Dean – she could have told anyone.”

“So where do we start?”

“How about we go talk to Maggie again? They used her shop quite a lot as far as I can see. Maybe she could give us some information on the rest of them. My guess is that if we find the list we are gonna’ find our Gorgon.”

“Sure Sammy, but you be careful before you know it you could be wrapped up in a loin cloth and put on display – Perseus!”

“Ha ha, Dean.” Sam shook his head. “Come on, we should go, the faster we get there the better.”

“What about Jasmine?”

“We should phone it in to the cops at least.”

“Shouldn’t one of us look for her?” There was a desperation in Dean’s eyes and Sam suddenly got it, his cheeks flushing hot with guilt, knowing without question what his brother was thinking.

“Okay, you look around campus and the surrounding area and I’ll go see Maggie.” Sam reached forward and squeezed Dean’s bicep, quick and gentle. “We’ll meet up in the bar later.”

Dean nodded his assent and turned heel. Sam watched him go with increasing regret, wondering if Dean would ever get over his year in Purgatory, if Dean would ever forgive him for not looking even though he had his reasons, reasons he would never be able to put into words.

The bell jingled as Sam walked into the shop but no one appeared. He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion suddenly weighing heavy on him, and he leaned against the wall, his hot cheek against the cool plaster. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again and when he did he noticed that there was a new statue propped in the corner of the store. Sighing he pushed himself upright and walked over to it on shaky legs, frowning as he stared at it, the shock of recognition making his heart pump harder, and sweat break out on his brow.

It was a young woman, her face serene, eyes half closed, mouth slightly parted. She wore the robes of the day but they appeared to have been added to the statue because when he looked closer he swore he could see modern clothing beneath. His mouth was dry and, although he had only met her once, he knew as soon as he saw the face of the statue, that this – this was Jasmine Green.

“You have found my Andromeda.” A voice behind him made him almost jump out of his skin and he cursed his sudden nervousness. “She is truly beautiful, is she not?”

He turned to see Maggie standing there, her bright eyes on his face. She still wore a large turban about her head and he swore it was moving, an odd hissing sound filling the air. He swallowed and his hand strayed to his back pocket where the demon killing knife rested, his only weapon.

“She looks remarkably like . . . .” He coughed then, tasting blood and cursed the trials for making him feel so weak. “Like someone I met recently.”

“My supplier often bases her models on real people, Agent Woods.” Maggie smiled, her teeth white and sharp against her red mouth. “It is one of her special skills.”

Sam backed up against the wall and flipped the knife into his hand. He brought it around and held it in front of him not really knowing why he felt so threatened. Maggie stared at the knife and shook her head. “That really isn’t going to protect you, my lovely Perseus.”

“It’s you,” Sam’s voice was choked and he shut his eyes suddenly, his hands coming out as if to protect himself, knowing even as he did it that it was useless.

“I gather you are not like the others,” Maggie’s voice seemed distant. “You are far more intelligent, a worthy foe for Medusa.”

Sam felt her hands on his face and he shuddered. They were cold and rough against his skin and the fingernails scratched at his eyelids forcing them upwards, forcing them open.

“I am not who you think I am,” she cooed. “Do you not know your Greek myth? Even one as clever as you? Alex, the fool, didn’t know. Robbie didn’t even attempt to understand, and Jasmine was ignorant. There were three Gorgons, three sisters; Medusa, Stheno and Euryale. Medusa was the only one of the three who was not immortal. She died at the hands of Perseus while the other two sisters, cursed to live forever, vowed to avenge her and we have and we will continue to do so. You, my beautiful boy, will be my latest statue and I believe my best.”

With that she pulled back and his eyes opened against his will. He saw her eyes flash at him and he felt his whole body go cold. He slumped against the wall, pain in his neck, shoulders and hands growing sharper, aches in his thighs and knees unbearable. His last thoughts before he slipped away were, _who is the other sister and where is Dean?_ however, he was gone before he had the chance to put those fears into words, as blackness claimed him quickly and mercifully.

“Agent!”

Dean had nearly finished his sweep of the campus when he saw Miss Constantine running towards him. He stopped and waited for her as she rounded the corner and appeared, panting in front of him.

“I hear Jasmine has gone missing?” Her voice was hoarse and her face, even with its dark Mediterranean tan, looked pale.

Dean frowned; how could she know? They hadn’t even phoned it in to the police yet. His mouth went dry and his stomach fluttered. In his pocket his cell was resolutely silent and he realized that it was quite a while since he had heard from Sammy.

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Miss Constantine,” he said, trying for gentle but sounding aggressive, and frustrated.

“Oh, it isn’t gossip.” Her sloe eyes fixed on his face, bright and knowing. “My sister told me.”

“Your sister?” He felt a sliver of suspicion wriggle down his spine. “You have a sister?”

“Margaret.” She smiled. “She runs the antique store. You have seen her statues, I believe.”

“Yeah, we talked to her during our investigation into Alex Douglas’s death.” Dean wondered why she had fixated on those statues. “I didn’t know you were related.”

“We don’t talk about our connection.” She leaned in close and his mouth went dry. “So as not to arouse suspicion.”

Dean had spent a year in Purgatory and his reactions were still sharp. The weapon he had brought with him from his year there was tucked, somewhat uncomfortably, down his dress pants. He never told Sam he had it with him at all times, knew his brother would either mock him or be worried for him. Benny had given him the weapon and he trusted his life to it.

“We have so many skills,” Miss Constantine purred. “We can shape-shift, we can read minds and are immortal, and you cannot kill us.”

Dean swallowed hard; the sudden panic gripping him wasn’t because he feared for his own life and the realization that Sam had gone to talk to Maggie was in the forefront of his mind. Sam had been gone for far too long without contact and Dean wanted, no needed, to know where he was, to be reassured he was safe.

But deep down, Dean knew he wasn’t and he knew, without question, that what they were facing was far more powerful than either of them had realized.

“I knew, as soon as I saw your companion that we had found our Perseus,” Miss Constantine was still talking, her voice almost hypnotic. Dean kept his head down, knowing that this was just a reprieve but also knowing he had to get through this somehow, knew he had to do it for Sam. “Beautiful and intelligent with it, Jasmine saw it too. She would have stolen him for her silly games so we put her to better use.”

“You killed her – just like you killed Alex and Robbie.” Dean was gripping the weapon so hard his hand hurt but it was important that he kept talking, tried to find something out. He had no idea that there were two _Medusa’s_ and his brain wasn’t working quite as sharply as it should do, his fear for Sam almost blinding him, and keeping him from thinking clearly.

“No, we do not _kill!_ We immortalize. Those chosen will _live_ forever, they will survive for an eternity, people will come and gaze upon them. It was unfortunate that the police found dear Alex and foolish Robbie before we could use them. I was very fond of Robbie.” Dean could hear the smile in her voice. “It was a great shame that I lost him to science.”

“There are two of you,” he managed to say, still keeping his head down, knowing he had to make a strike just when the time was right. “How?”

“We are all that is left, now our younger sister has gone. I am Stheno and my sister is Euryale. We have moved through time, changing to suit each decade, each fashion, and each fad. We have made such wonderful statues, you might have seen some of them, we have made so many other immortals like ourselves and, when we are crossed, we exact punishment.”

“I’ve faced immortals before,” Dean managed. “You might not be able to be killed but you can be stopped.”

“Nothing can stop us,” the woman known as Stheno said, softly. “Nobody has ever been able to, not even you, Dean Winchester.”

“You know who I am? You always knew.”

Like I told you, I have many skills. What _monster_ does not know about the Winchester brothers?” she laughed. “But even you are no match for us.”

“That is what you think.” Dean pulled back his arm and, in one sweeping movement, he swung the Purgatory weapon, eyes tightly closed. He was relying on instinct, on his skills and he almost wept with relief as he felt the blade cut through flesh, heard the hideous cry of the woman before him mixed with the angry hissing of, what sounded like, hundreds of snakes.

There was a loud thud as the body hit the floor and a sick rolling sound as the head followed. Working blind Dean scooped up the hissing, screaming thing and dumped it without ceremony into the trashcan he had seen earlier. It wasn’t elegant or heroic or even very clever but it was at least a start.

And now – now he had to find Sam.

The bell rattled almost off its hinges as he slammed through the door. He heard the crash of glass behind him as it crashed shut and he looked around frantically, his breath going out of him as he looked around the room and saw his brother.

Sam lay, legs spread wide, on the cold floor. He had been stripped of his layers, his chest bare, nothing on his body but a pair of shabby grey boxers that just about hid his dignity. Not that it mattered. Dean could see his brothers tanned skin turning white, saw the ivory streaking through his long, messy hair, and saw the glazed look in his fading hazel eyes, his mouth slightly open. Sam was drooling and, in most other circumstances it would be funny and maybe Dean would whip out his cell and take a photograph, but now, now he felt nothing but absolute panic and, without even worrying about the danger, he skidded across the room and fell to his knees in front of Sam, taking his face in his hands, feeling how cold and hard the flesh was under his fingers.

The heavy bag that he had slung around his shoulders almost pulled him over but he kept upright, running his hands over Sam’s body. He could feel the faint thumping of his brother’s heart but it was slow and fading and he swallowed. They couldn’t have come all this way for Sam to die like this, not like this.

“Hello Dean,” a voice behind him made him tense. He could hear a faint hissing, smell something hideous, something indescribable. He kept his eyes on his brother.

“Euryale,” he said, softly. “You fucking bitch.”

“Now, now.” A clawed hand landed on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin. He looked slightly to his left to see green tinged skin and long black talons. He had seen pictures of the Gorgon during Sam’s research but he could only imagine what the face behind that hand looked like. “You haven’t much time left, you might as well be polite”

“What have you done to my brother?”

“He is becoming my greatest creation, my Perseus. He will stand in the greatest of galleries next to my poor dead sister, next to my Medusa. It is something I have wanted for decades and no one has come close until now.”

“Take it back.” Dean clutched at Sam’s ever hardening face, his slowly stiffening body. “Take it back!”

“No, I will not.”

“But you could?” Dean had been hoping, desperately, and he tried to keep that out of his voice, tried to stay cocky, confident, and unafraid.

“I could,” her voice was low, almost otherworldly. “But why should I?”

“If you don’t,” he gritted out, his own voice wavering. “I won’t tell you where I’ve buried your sister’s body.”

“Stheno?” For the first time there was panic in the other woman’s voice. “What have you done?”

“You may be immortal but you aren’t indestructible, you still have flesh to cut into and I had the weapon to do it.”

“Where is she? What have you done?”

“Fix Sam and I’ll tell you.” Dean rose to his feet but he kept his back to the woman. The smell and the hissing came closer and he felt her cold breath on the back of his neck. “Kill me and you will never know,” he whispered.

There was a hiss of frustration and he felt the hand slither from his shoulder and reach down. Dean held his breath as he saw it run along Sam’s body. This wasn’t in the myths as far as he knew but he didn’t care. Myths were just that and he knew, from first-hand experience, that real life was a whole lot different.

“Doesn’t matter,” he heard her taunt. “This won’t end here.”

Dean swallowed hard and looked down. Sam’s skin looked a little less pale now, his eyes a little less glazed. His brother’s mouth opened on a low groan and Dean wanted to touch him, to reassure him but he had to see this through.

“Now tell me where my sister is.”

“Yeah,” Dean reached into the heavy bag. “I’ll tell you the truth. Sure I buried her body but I kept this.”

His fingers stung as he wrapped them around the hissing reptiles. He could feel their attempts to bite him and he winced, praying that he didn’t have to add poisoning to his problems. He could feel the head vibrate in his hand, hear the rattling in the back of its severed throat, it was trying to speak, to warn its sister.

“NO!” 

Euryale cried out and Dean heard the thud as she fell backwards. Under his fingers the head began to vibrate, the reptiles turning hard and cold. He held on as long as he dared and then he dropped the thing, turning to his brother and wrapping his arms around ever warming flesh, Sam’s eyes on him, confused and scared.

“Dean . . . .”

“S’ok Sammy.” He pulled his brother into his arms and held him closer still, his _no chick flick moments_ rule going out of the window. “You’re okay, you’re gonna’ be alright.”

“What happened?” Sam sounded dazed, out of it.

“I saved you, so you could save the world.” Dean grinned, relief flooding him. “You might have the looks but I’m Perseus in every way that counts.”

Sam managed a choked laugh and he steadied a little on his feet.

Dean propped him against the wall and, for the first time, dared to turn around. 

Against the other wall was the white, frozen body of Euryale. A perfect alabaster statue that would probably be worth something someday. Her body was draped in thin, white cotton and her face was something that nightmares were made of. Stone snakes curled from her head, some of them showing their tiny but sharp teeth. Her eyes, white now, looked as if they would have once burned fire and her clawed hands were reaching outwards, perfect right down to the long, long nails.

“Fuck me!” Dean looked down to see the alabaster head on the floor. Stheno’s eyes were wide in horror as she must have realized what Dean had in mind. It hadn’t been the best plan in the world and he had had no idea if it would actually work but, at the time, it was all he had and now, now he had used both Gorgons against each other and they had turned each other into stone.

“We should go,” Sam sounded wrecked. Dean nodded. He picked up the head and shoved it back into his bag. It was heavier now and he felt his shoulders pull. “Dean.”

“We should bury this as deep as we can,” he said. “I’ve hidden the fucking body in the trunk of the Impala and we should bury that too.” He glanced at the _statue_ of Euryale. “As for that, maybe we should leave it in the middle of some damn, deserted wood or, even better, throw it into the nearest river.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulders. “But first – first we should get you into some clothes, Sammy. You look a bit cold there.”

“Jerk,” Sam laughed weakly.

“Yeah, bitch.” Dean felt his own laughter bubble.

After a warm shower and a change of clothes they headed out of town pretty damn quickly. There were no goodbyes for Vicki just a pile of bills and a note thanking her for her hospitality. The store - _Past Times_ looks deserted as they drove by. There were cop cars outside and a yellow tape around the whole store front. Dean and Sam exchanged glances and Dean drove faster.

They stopped in the middle of a huge wood to bury Stheno’s head. Dean took the end of one of his shotguns and smashed against the bag that they’d hidden it in until there are just tiny shards of alabaster in it, no shape or form discernible any more. Dean dug the biggest hole he could and dropped the bag into it. He wasn’t taking any chances, didn’t want to go through that again.

Two hundred miles later and they were standing at the edge of a huge lake. If they were sightseeing it would be a beautiful spot, picnic table’s stood all around them, bright in the dappled sunlight of early evening. Sam still looked like shit so Dean hauled out Euryale’s statue. For a moment they both stared at the evil visage frozen forever in white marble, wild eyes and serpentine hair. Sam leaned against the Impala looking sick and Dean just shrugged, pushed his shoulder hard against the statue and watched, with some satisfaction, as it sunk slowly to the bottom of the lake.

They needed a motel and some rest; Sam looked like he might vomit and Dean couldn’t help himself, put a hand on his brother’s thigh and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“It was my fault,” Sam’s voice was low. “I was so fucking tired from the first trial that I didn’t notice, didn’t research, and didn’t do my job properly.”

“Sammy.”

“I should have found out more about the Gorgons. I was convinced it was Medusa but how could it have been, she was dead, Perseus killed her. If I had gotten on to it sooner maybe Jasmine would still be alive.”

“Sam don’t blame yourself for everything.” Dean squeezed Sam’s thigh again and shook his head. “Who knew? We both were responsible and neither of us exactly covered ourselves in glory on this one.”

“Why did they do it?” Sam yawned and rubbed at his eyes angrily. “Why did they kill those teenagers?”

“They killed Alex because he was Zeus. I think, perhaps, they would have gone back for his body and turned it into a statue but Jasmine got there first. Same with Robbie, they wanted Perseus and he was as close as they could get. They took Jasmine because she knew too much.”

“What did she know? Did she know that they were Gorgons?”

“No, but she did know they were part of Alex’s Greek Myth nights.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a creased up piece of paper. “This is Jasmine’s list, I found it in her room while I was looking for clues as to where she could be. If you look carefully you’ll see that Mrs. Constantine and Maggie were both group members at one time and another. Easy way to target their victims and to get revenge on humanity,” he sighed. “Fucking monsters, they never fucking stop, do they?”

Sam shook his head; he was exhausted, worn through. He wasn’t sure if he could do another trial, not sure if he would survive it. He coughed and rubbed at his chest, his gaze flicking over to his brothers, their eyes meeting. Dean looked tired, the flesh above his cheekbones dark and bruised looking. 

“You saved me,” Sam said, finally. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Sammy,” Dean said, gently. “Just be honest with me and tell me when you are feeling fucking sick.” He shrugged. “I’m tired of driving, you wanna’ settle in for the night?”

Sam gazed out at the highway ahead of them. There was nothing but mile after mile of road and to stop now would mean sleeping in the car. Despite everything he wanted to do just that, wanted to lie down in the backseat, to pull his legs up to his chest and just sleep, the familiar smell of leather, gunpowder and sweat enough to relax him, to keep him safe and sane.

“Yeah.” Memories of burning eyes and stiffening limbs fading as the night drew on. “I wanna’ settle for the night.”

Dean laughed, pulled the Impala into the nearest parking place and glided to a halt. 

It was a long hard road, full of monsters, myths, angels, demons but they were gonna’ travel it together and, one day, they were gonna’ be free.

End


End file.
